In A Name
by Corralero
Summary: On the birth of the second son of the Steward's Heir, something went wrong, terribly terribly wrong and Findulas found herself fighting for her son's share of love and affection where she least expected to be fighting. Denethor's own heart.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the characters, nor am I making any money from this.

**Warnings: **A rather unpleasant Denethor and a bit of violent behavour.

**In A Name**

**By Corralero**

**Chapter One**

The birth had been difficult and long. Long hours of sitting in a ante-chamber, listening to the cries and mummers and watching the servants go by. Had it been so with Boromir? Denethor did not think so, but then he reconsidered. It had been five year ago. He gritted his teeth in impatient frustration, striding across the room. As the door swung open he spun savagely, abruptly ejaculating, "At last!"

"Well, my lord," the physician replied smoothly, well used to the Steward's heir's ill temper, "You have a son. My congratulations."

Grunting his satisfaction, Denethor brushed past him into the birthing chamber, stopping short at the scene before him. Findulas, his beloved wife, lay there in the huge bed, utterly exhausted, but glowing with delight. But there, silent in her arms, lay his son. His son? Dear heavens, was that truly his child? This little scrap of life, compared to his bold Boromir, who came out, roaring lustily for food and life, not sleeping. Denethor sighed in disgust, but what else could one expect the second son to be, he reasoned internally. Still, it was a spare, it kept the council happy and Eru knows it kept Findulas amused.

She was smiling at him, expecting him to come and…do what? Rejoice in having a weakling for a son? Unlikely, thought Denethor coldly.

Findulas was soaring high despite the weariness as she held her new babe in her arms. He was different, so different to her Bori, but oh, she had had no concept that it was possible to love not only one but two children as much as she did. She had worried, fretted, that she may find that she could only love one as much as she desired, but now her fears seemed utterly laughable and the relief and joy left her light and glowing. She looked up to share her love with her lord, yet his gaze was cold. Her smile faltered, but swiftly she forced it back.

"Will you not see your new son, my lord?"

He moved with dubious reluctance to her side and stood glaring down at her child. Instinctively she pulled the babe closer to her chest, protectively, as despair began to seep around her. Something was going wrong, so terribly, terribly wrong, and she didn't know what to do.

"So…so does he please you, my love? I know he is smaller than Boromir was but…" Her voice shook despite her efforts to keep it steady. What was she doing, making excuses for their son? He was perfect as he was.

Finally her husband spoke, but his harsh words served to fuel her fear rather than alleviate them. "He has exhausted you" He snapped, "Boromir's birth was much easier."

Findulas frowned, "No, that is not right, Boromir's birth took hours…" Denethor's eyes flashed and she shrank back, she could not face an argument, not now. Tears pricked at her eyes and she swallowed, all sense of elation evaporated. It was not meant to be like this…with a great effort she changed the subject, "What would you name him, my lord?"

For instant terrible sarcasm flickered across his face before it became inscrutable. For a split second he hesitated, then "Faramir".

"Fara-mir"

She tested the name and smile, the ease returning to her soul. "A good name. The hunter's jewel."

Denethor's sneer was almost unnoticeable and his exhausted wife missed it.

"As you wish, my lady."

"Congratulations, my children!"

Findulas could not help but smile as the elderly steward Ecthelion entered the room. Denethor made his farewells to his father and wife and swiftly left the room.

"Well, if he isn't a handsome babe." The old steward's pleasure was evident, "come to Grandpapa, little one." He smiled gently at Findulas as he cradled the still sleeping Faramir in his arms. "You must be greatly proud to have such a fine second son."

Findulas felt her heart lighten as such praise. Denethor must have loved the child or else he would not have gifted him such a beautiful name, she reasoned.

"Denethor named him Faramir. The Hunter's Jewel." She said proudly. Findulas was spared Ecthelion's slight frown at the appearance of a small head peering around the doorway.

"Boromir," she called out gently, "Would you like to meet your new baby brother, Faramir?" Emboldened by her call the five year old entered, scrambled up onto the bed and hesitantly crawled his way up the blankets to Findulas as she retrieved Faramir from the Steward. His eyes widened in surprise, then in pleasure. "He came out!" Boromir, always impatient, had struggled for many months to understand exactly why his baby brother insisted on waiting inside his mother's stomach instead of coming out to play. He peered again at his slumbering, newly liberated brother, cautiously reaching out to touch the tiny curled fingers. Suddenly Faramir woke. Stretching and gazing sleepily around, his wandering gaze found Boromir. A contently gurgle arose and the tiny baby fingers happily grasped his brother's chubby five year old hand.

Boromir was enraptured. "He likes me!"

"And you, what of you? Do you like him?" Findulas tried hard to keep herself steady and rational, but Denethor's reaction had shook her badly. Boromir put his head to one side. "He looks like the mouser's new kittens, don't you puss?" His eyes met his mother's, filled with innocent adoration "I love him very much."

Findulas could not contain an exhausted giggle of relief. Anyone who knew Boromir knew that this was the highest seal of approval the toddler could give. Boromir had been captured by the new kittens and so would be by this one also.

"Come, my little soldier, let us leave your mama to her sleep and your "puss" to his and I do believe it is time for yours also." The Steward swept his grandson onto his hip as Boromir scowled while valiantly holding back a yawn. "Not tired." He protested.

"No, indeed?" Ecthelion snorted, "Well how about a story to place you in the right frame of mind, hmm?"

**To Be Contiued **

* * *

**Author's Note: **A brief foray into the world of Toklien. I hope you enjoy it! I'd love a bit of feed back on the speech and style I have used as it's a little different to the style I usualy write in (I think). Massive thankyous to those who reviewed _A Conversation of Clowns_. I was slightly staggered people liked it so much! Some of the things people said made me walk around with a big grin on my face for hours! 


	2. Chapter 2

**In A Name**

**By Corralero**

**Chapter Two**

"That was a cruel name."

"It is no business of yours, father, what I name my own."

"Your own! Precisely. Your own. How can you give your son such a name?"

"Because that was all he seemed worthy of, barely that." Denethor replied smoothly, finally looking up from his work, a scowl of annoyance on his handsome face. Clearly father would not allow this to drop.

"You say such things! Have you no feelings of affection, of love towards this child of yours?" Ecathalion asked in despair, watching this cold hard son of his and dreading the answer. He loved his son dearly but was well aware of his faults, of his stubbornness, his pride. Denethor sneered in sardonic amusement. His father was a fool. Yes once he had been mighty, but his wisdom was withering.

"Should I? Why should I love this Fara-mir? It is clear from the outset that he shall not match Boromir. Why should I devote and invest my love? If he wishes for my affection he shall have to earn it."

Suddenly Ecathalion felt ancient and tired beyond belief. "And what of Findulas? What of your lady wife? What of her when she discovers the other meaning of this name?"

He saw a twinge of guilt flit across the other's face. Then Denethor shrugged.

"She shall recover soon enough."

* * *

Findulas was reading. She loved to read. Often at Dol Amoth she would read by the sea, with only the wind and the sun for company. Now she read in the nursery, where Boromir drew her a picture and the month-old Faramir lay sleeping in his cradle. The birth had been exhausting and recovery had been slow, she thought as she looked up to check on the babe's state, but she was almost back to normal. There was a sudden commotion as the door to the nursery swung open, then… 

"Papa!" Shrieked Boromir, throwing himself at Denethor with the faith of the innocent, to the caught and thrown high into the air, giggling with glee.

"And how is my boy today?" Inquired her husband, setting him on his feet again, "Make your report, soldier."

Boromir sprang to attention and threw a salute, but his poise was soon forgotten in his excitement to convey his day's adventures of frogs and dragons. Denethor flashed a warm smile at his wife at his son's eagerness, moving closer and reaching for a kiss…

Faramir had awoken in fright and confusion at the noise and the big booming voice filling the usually peaceful nursery and had begun to cry. Findulas halted the kiss, moving towards the cradle, but Denethor held her back, hand on her waist, nuzzling her neck. "One of the maids can deal with it." He murmured.

It.

Findulas shook her head and slipped out of his grasp, ignoring his darkening brow. Scooping Faramir up, she began to soothe him as Denethor turned brusquely away, but Faramir was rigid. His eyes, once baby blue but now turning to a deeper, clear grey were wide and distressed, almost as if he sensed the tension rising within the room. He kept crying.

"For Eru's sake, woman, shut that child up!" Denethor suddenly roared.

"He's a child! Children cry, Denethor! Besides you frighten him, he doesn't know you." She replied, trying to reason with him. He frowned heavily, seeing Boromir look tense and nervous, all of his earlier energy gone as he watched his parents fight.

"I came for some time with the family. You, Boromir. Then he…"

Oh, it was too much. She struggled to draw breath at the sudden onslaught of anger, holding the now silent Faramir to her chest.

"He? He? He is part of our family. There are four of us now. FOUR!"

* * *

The slam of the nursery door left a ringing silence in it's wake. Then a soft sob broke the silence. 

"Mama, don't cry." A whispered plea reached Findulas' ears from where she knelt on the woven rug trying hopelessly to place back together the beloved vase her husband has smashed against the floor in his rage. They had fought violently before, it was a part of their marriage, their passionate and stubborn natures colliding in many matters. They loved each other deeply, despite the tempestuous fights. But never in front of the children, never _over _the children. "Mama…" The whisper began to waver, and she looked up to see Boromir's bright grey eyes shining with contained tears, Faramir's small form clasped tightly in his little arms, as her boy slowly approached her. She stretched out her arms to them both, holding them to her, trying to halt her tears as she kissed away theirs and soothed their fears.

* * *

That night they reconciled, as they always did. He adored his Findulas; she loved her Denethor. The argument was reconciled; the cause was not. She lay awake that night, nestled against her husband's broad chest, listening to his strong breathing and her heart was heavy within her. Helplessness tore at her as she felt the gaping void between Denethor and her youngest son, felt the gates to Denethor's heart shut firmly in front of Faramir's face. But still she refused to accept it. Time, all events took time, some more than others. Some relationships took time to flower, but were no less beautiful for their late blooming. Yet during the wintertime, Findulas was sure that a seed had been planted. She was confident Denethor felt love for his youngest son, Faramir. The beautiful name, the seed for her hope, confirmed that belief. Comforted once more, Findulas slipped into sleep.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Many thanks to my reviewers, Rocks-my-socks and dancingkatz! I agree, I get a bit tired of the amazing-yet-misundersood-and-highly-pressured-Denethor, if that's how people see him that's fine, but personly I though he was pretty nasty in the book. I hope my view of Denethor doesn't put people off. As you can see in this chapter I don't think he's all bad! 


	3. Chapter 3

**In A Name**

**By Corralero**

**Chapter Three**

The following morning found Findulas reading again, sat this time in the large bay windows of the extensive chambers devoted solely to her use. Light and airy, placed high up in the palace, they commanded a breathtaking view over the plains of Gondor. That morning she had opened the windows wide, feeling the warm gentles breezes tug and play with her tresses. The wind spoke to her, carrying the scent of spices and sand from the far south, the scents of earth and wood from the north and, if she breathed deeply enough, the faint elusive scent of salt and sea from the west. So she sat, absorbed in the wind and the book on her lap.

_"However the elves learnt of their craft through trial and error. Many jewels originally crafted by Feanor had not one hundredth of the brightness of the silmarillions. At the start of his journey of craftsmanship he produced many of what the elves termed "adequate" jewels (believing that Eru had determined at least some purpose for any creation). These jewels or "fara-mirs" were often small in body, soft with no resistant properties, muddy brown or unattractive yellow, and held no beauty, worth or use…"_

The book fell, fell from her hands as she sobbed, fell from the window, disappearing down, down, down in a flurry of pages and was gone, but she did not notice. This could not be so. Her little one, her Faramir, was merely adequate. The lady covered her fair face in grief as the pain grew, causing her to tremble in distress as the tears dripped between her slender fingers. Then comforting arms slipped around her shoulders, drawing her against a solid chest as fingers laced through her hair, stroking it soothingly. She clutched blindly at the comfort, shuddering with sobs.

Ecthelion held his distraught daughter-in-law sadly, soothing her until the tears became unladylike sniffs. Then softly he spoke.

"So, now you know."

She pulled away, sea-green eyes searching his for explanations, solutions. "Why?" How could such desperation and confusion be condensed into just one word? Sighing the old Steward knelt before her, drawing her fair hands together between his aged ones.

"Findulas, I cannot explain to you the workings of my son's mind, nor the" he hesitated, "dislike he has taken towards Faramir." He saw her flinch at the child's name. "Nay, my child, you must be strong. That is the name he bares and will to the end of his days. He cannot have a parent censure him for what he is and another censure him for what he is called. You love him still?" The eyes blazed with a mother's indignation and protection. "What is in a name, my lady? It does not create the goodness or badness within a soul. You must be strong. You yourself saw the worth, the goodness within Faramir, despite his name and through his name. Hunter's Jewel, I believe you named him? A beautiful name, a worthy name indeed." He trailed off as the fey of his family within his blood rose. In his mind's eye he saw the younger son, the path he took and the man whom he served. "He will be come the hunter's jewel indeed." He murmured.

Slowly his gaze refocused upon the woman before him and he raised his thumb, wiping off the last traces of distress. "Do not despair, my dear. He has you, Boromir and myself. Many others also shall come to love him and follow him." It was not enough, he knew. "And we shall see about Denethor, we shall see."

She nodded, leaning in for one last steadying embrace, then pulled back, her courage rising. They stood and she turned her face to the playful breeze, taking a long deep breath.

"I should go and join the children for lunch. We have a banquet tonight, do we not? I shall not be able to see them before they go to bed." She said, a smile gracing her face. He nodded, caressing her face in blessing as she curtsied gracefully and swept from the room. He stood to move by the window, looking down on to the nursery gardens below, where Boromir searched for dragons in the bushes as the nurse dandled a chuckling Faramir on her lap. Findulas appeared in due course, sweeping the babe up to rapturous gurgling delight as starfish hands pressed against her face. Settling him on her hip, the lady proceeded to place a soft kiss of blessing upon the child's forehead.

Smiling, the old Steward allowed his gaze to drift higher out on to the plains, further to the growing shadow in the East. Then a tint of green caught his failing eyes. Ithillien, his mind supplied. Denethor had been right in a way, he thought, Findulas had recovered soon enough. Slowly he turned away from his vantage point, raising his hand in blessing over his two grandchildren, Boromir and Faramir.

**The End**

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Woo, that's my first Lord of the Ring's fic finished! I'm really quite pleased with the way it turned out. Thank you so much for taking the time to review, I really appreciated the feedback. Please let me know what you thought of the final chapter. It's one of these werid stories where it's quite hard to wrap it up because everyone knows there is so much more to come, but I hope it came out ok. I was really pleased with Ecthelion and Findualas. They've always seen like such lovely gentle characters, They're so nice to write! 


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